


Seeking Serenity

by shadeshifter



Series: Chasing Death [2]
Category: Firefly, Highlander: The Series, Leverage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:45:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeshifter/pseuds/shadeshifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot Spencer books passage on Serenity. Mal isn't impressed when Spencer brings with him an all too familiar container.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I get for rewatching Firefly while writing fic.  
> Another WIP, so updates might be a little slow.

“I’ll look after him, I promise,” River said as she watched the crowd on the docks.

“What was that, Albatross?” Mal asked. River pointed to a man who wandered from ship to ship seemingly unimpressed with what he saw. He looked like trouble to Mal. “This why you insisted on coming here?”

“I promise I’ll feed him and take him for walks if you let me keep him.”

“We aren’t looking to book passengers, just right now.”

River tilted her head to look at him and Mal fought the urge to look away. It didn’t matter how much better she’d been doing since Miranda, she was still entirely uncanny.

“He’ll pay heaps and heaps of credits.”

“Well,” Mal murmured, “that’s a whole other thing, right there.” He started down the ramp as the man glanced over his boat with a thoughtful look. “Looking for passage?” he asked.

The man looked at him critically, blue eyes sharp and intelligent as they judged him. A part of Mal’s brain, the bit that was in charge of planning and caution and rules, told him this really wasn’t a good idea, but it was a small voice and he had never been too good about listening to that part anyway.

“I have a large container that I will need to store. Do you have storage space?” the man asked.

“Might have some space in the hold we can arrange for you.”

The man frowned and looked past Mal at the ship. He seemed to be coming to a decision and Mal knew a bit about negotiation, even if he generally had to resort to other options, so he let the man have a moment.

“Need to get to the Rim. Don’t really care how long it takes.”

That definitely sent alarms ringing in his head, but River had pushed for him to take on this man as passenger and the times he hadn’t listened to her tended to be more disastrous than the times he had.

“Might have to stop off for a delivery or two,” Mal added.

“I will pay extra to avoid inconveniences,” the man told him, eyes narrowing just a little. 

Definitely bad news. Mal glanced back in River’s direction and she smiled at him and twirled in place, dancing to a tune only she could hear. 

“I’m sure something can be arranged. Why don’t you get your cargo delivered while we settle on a fee?” Mal said magnanimously, as he waved the man into Serenity. “I’m Captain Malcolm Reynolds.”

“Eliot Spencer.”

-

“They tried to catch lightning in a jar,” River muttered as a crate was wheeled into the loading bay.

Mal was only half listening as he watched the too familiar crate being settled into his ship. He turned to look at Spencer, who watched the crate with all too familiar concern. He sighed.

“Please tell me you’re a flesh trader.”

Eliot raised his eyebrows.

“They tried to trap lightning in a jar. It didn’t work,” River said again.

There was something about the way she said it that sent a shiver down Mal’s spine. He just knew it ended badly for someone. He just hoped that someone wasn’t him. Spencer’s gaze moved swiftly to River and Mal shifted subtly to stand in front of her because Spencer did not look pleased. Mal knew what people like him did when they weren’t pleased. 

“Captain?” Zoe questioned from where she leaned on the railings. 

“River wants to keep him,” Mal told her. Zoe nodded and moved off in the direction of the galley. She hadn’t been the same since Miranda. None of them had. 

“It’s okay,” River said as she sidled up to Spencer. “They cracked open my egg, too.”

Spencer stared at her with an unreadable expression for a long moment during which Mal remained tensed with his hand on his gun. Finally, Spencer sighed and muttered something about 20 pounds of crazy in a five pound bag, to which River grinned. Spencer looked at Mal again, his expression hardening once more. Mal supposed it was something that River had showed it was capable of softening, even a little bit, but he wouldn’t put it past the man to be able to put aside any feelings of that sort if he needed to. Mal wasn’t going to relax around him at all, and he was sure Zoe, Jayne and, for what it was worth, Simon wouldn’t either.

“No one’s cracking anything open until we’re in the Black.”

Mal glanced at River, but she was pre-occupied pressing herself up against the crate the same way she had Tracy’s coffin. It concerned him for a moment that Spencer could understand River’s ramblings.

“Fine,” he said and went to pry his pilot from her latest distraction.

-

Spencer didn’t leave the loading bay when they left atmo and neither did Mal. As much as he didn’t really want to know what was going to get him in trouble this time, he didn’t want to leave Spencer alone on his ship either.

“Any sign of pursuit?” Spencer asked when they’d been flying, hard burn, for a few hours. 

“None, sir,” Zoe told Mal, descending the stairs. Mal assumed she’d just come from the cockpit. “River says no one knows he -they- boarded with us.”

“Time for presents,” River said, bounding over the edge of the railing and swinging to the ground. “Shake it to guess what’s inside.”

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” Spencer drawled. 

“Before we go cracking or shaking things, might appreciate a little clarification,” Mal said. Spencer rested a hand against the crate, as though he could feel the presence of who was in it, and sighed.

“It’s a long story.”

“Took him and played with him until he broke into pieces. When he glued himself back together, they tried it again,” River said helpfully. She slid up to the box again and mirrored Spencer’s stance. She cocked her head to one side as though listening. 

“Not so long, then,” Spencer said. He scrubbed a weary hand down his face. “As I understood, the sum I paid meant a modicum of privacy and few questions.”

Mal glanced at Zoe who nodded and disappeared up the stairs once more. She’d probably go and monitor their course, although River seemed to do that fine even when she wasn’t at the helm. Jayne and Kaylee hadn’t come to greet the new arrivals – the engines were having some troubles, but those would soon be fixed with Spencer’s money, and Jayne probably wasn’t interested. Simon still tended to avoid strangers in case they tried to turn in him and River to the Alliance. Although, that was a worry less and less these days. Miranda had changed a lot.

“I ain’t having something or someone on my ship I ain’t checked. And River’s a law unto herself,” Mal told him. Spencer hesitated but nodded. He withdrew a syringe from his coat and stepped up to the box. He quickly punched in a long code and then settled in to wait. Mal shifted uneasily. “Didn’t take this long last time.”

“Shouldn’t wake a sleepwalker,” River said and she wrapped her arms around herself. “Living nightmare, only you can’t wake up.”

Spencer stared at River for a long moment, concern etched on his face, though Mal wasn’t sure if it was for River or for whoever was in the box. After a long moment, drawn out by anticipation, the box opened with a hiss. Mal leaned over to look in as the smoke cleared, just as it had with River, and, just as with River, the man inside was naked. 

“Adam,” Eliot said quietly, gently, as he crouched down and lightly traced the sharp cheekbones. 

The man twitched once at the touch and then Mal wasn’t entirely sure what happened, but the naked man had Spencer’s gun and was aiming it steadily at Mal’s head, Spencer placed protectively behind him. Mal wasn’t sure he’d seen many people less in need of protection. River giggled.

“Ain’t a need to be hasty now,” Mal said, hands raised.

“Adam,” Eliot said again, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder blade. “It’s alright, you’re safe.”

Adam cocked his head to one side, still not distracting himself from Mal. The hand slid down to rest at Adam’s waist and to Mal it looked obscenely intimate. Eliot stepped closer and rested a hand on Adam’s wrist, gently pushing the gun down.

“You’re safe,” Eliot repeated.

“No,” Adam said, and he sounded much more grounded than River, “not ever.”

Eliot smiled wryly.

“Alright,” he said, “but you’re safe enough for now.”

Adam fully lowered his arm and Eliot retrieved his gun, replacing it in his holster. 

“Well, that was bracing,” Mal said, he was going to continue when River stepped forward until she was only an inch or two away from Adam. Mal itched to drag her back, but he knew that of them she was the most capable of defending herself. She pushed up to her tiptoes in an attempt to look him straight in the eye.

“You’re very quiet.”

Adam smiled at her, but to Mal there was something dark and disturbing underneath. River smiled back.

“Might be an idea to get yourself sorted out,” Mal suggested with a vague gesture at Adam to indicate his nudity, but mostly to get him away from River. 

“Come on,” Spencer said, hand on Adam’s back. “I’ve got your things.”

Adam gave him a short nod and allowed Spencer to lead him away, as dignified in his nakedness as Mal had ever seen Inara in full Companion regalia.

-

Eliot watched with concern as Methos stumbled in the doorway of the cabin they’d been allocated. Without fuss, Eliot slid an arm around Methos’s waist and led him to the bed. The fact that Methos leaned heavily on him, barely supporting any of his own weight, was especially worrying. Immortal physiology could only do so much, but considering the state he’d found the staff of the Alliance facility in, he’d been hoping that Methos would be more recovered than he was. 

“Eliot,” Methos said, voice cracking with the stress of all that he’d been through. “Eliot.”

“I’m here,” he said as he guided Methos to lie down. Methos shivered despite the warmth of the room.

“Please.” 

Eliot wasn’t sure what he was pleading for, wasn’t sure how coherent he was after what he’d been through, wasn’t even sure Methos knew what he was saying. He had very little idea what had been done to Methos, beyond the rather clinical reports the scientists and doctors had produced.

“It’s alright,” Eliot said, lying down beside him and curling around him, pulling Methos into his arms. Methos was warm and solid against him. Real and there in ways that finally eased the aching uncertainty and fear that had plagued him since Methos disappeared. Methos gripped Eliot’s hands, entangling their fingers, and held on so tightly it hurt. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Liar,” Methos accused, but without heat. Eliot sighed and pressed his forehead to Methos’ shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured softly against the curve of Methos’ shoulder blade. 

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure where I want to go with this, so I'm open to suggestions.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a little bit more of this 'verse and thought I'd post it, because the wait for more might be a bit long while I finish up other things.

Eliot watched as Methos moved through the corridors of the ship, bare feet not making a sound. He’d managed to coax Methos into loose pants and a T-shirt, but there was something primal about him this morning, something wild that made him stalk relentlessly through the passageways of the old ship; pacing like a caged animal.

He’d seen Methos restless when they’d remained in one place for too long and it was past time to move on, but he’d never seen this desperate inability to settle. It was anathema that Methos, who could negotiate personalities and characteristics with ease, was completely unable to manage his impulses.

“Excuse me?” a soft, cultured voice interrupted and Eliot spun around to see a short, dark-haired man, dressed impeccably in smart pants, a button up shirt and a silk waistcoat. Methos didn’t seem to notice him at all, but Eliot knew better. “I’m River’s brother, Simon. I have some practice treating River and Mal thought your friend might benefit from my help.”

Eliot had a feeling that was a heavily edited account of the conversation the Captain and Simon had had. He knew Simon was just trying to help, that he meant well, but all Eliot could think was that he was not letting any doctors anywhere near Methos. 

“There’s nothing you can do for him that time won’t,” Eliot told him, more harshly than he’d intended.

“I am a fully qualified doctor,” Simon said, just a little affronted.

“They didn’t do anything to him he couldn’t heal from eventually,” Eliot admitted. Though from what he’d seen of the records, they’d certainly tried. Perhaps, when he had a better idea of the kinds of people of which this crew was comprised, when he knew if they could be trusted, he’d let Simon see the records.

Methos disappeared around a corner and Eliot felt a shiver of fear slide down his spine. He took a step in that direction before Simon stopped him. 

“You can’t protect him, not all the time, and he’ll only resent you if you try,” Simon told him, voice layered with longing and regret. It was enough to make Eliot stop and actually listen to him. “I tried with River, because she wasn’t the River I knew and she was damaged and fragile. At least I thought so. But she’s strong, stronger than any of us thought, and she doesn’t need me to protect her, just be there for her.”

Eliot didn’t reply, didn’t really know how to, because whatever River was, Methos was broken. They’d torn him apart until there was nothing left of the man Eliot recognised. They’d been fighting for each other since they met. He didn’t know how to just accept this and move on, to not fight for Methos.

Eliot was distracted by the sound of laughter, light and free, as it bounced off the walls – River, Eliot thought he recognised the sound – and the soft murmur of Methos’ voice just under it. Methos was alright. There was little on the ship that could actually hurt him, but, more than that, he could cope without Eliot. It hadn’t been Eliot who’d decimated the facility that held him. Methos had done that himself, even as incapacitated as he was. 

“He just needs time,” Eliot insisted. 

-

Eliot watched Methos and River on the catwalk from where he’d settled in the cargo bay. River danced along around Methos, while Methos followed, movements slow but graceful. His smile when he looked at her was patient and indulgent, and it was the closest to normal Eliot had seen him in a while. 

The buzz of his Immortality was a constant thrum in the back of Eliot’s head. It hadn’t faded like it usually did, wasn’t reined in tightly so that he seemed like he was brand new to Immortality. It thrummed, powerfully, relentlessly, so that Eliot felt the full weight of Methos’ years like pressure bearing down on him. 

“Just what this ship needs, another moonbrain fugie,” a man said, striding into the cargo area, clearly headed for the exercise equipment. Eliot assumed that this was Jayne, the mercenary Mal hired to act as extra muscle. He was taller than Eliot and broader than Methos, but he didn’t look particularly light on his feet and they had experience on their side.

Methos stilled on the catwalk, eyes sharp as they turned from River, instantly dismissing her, to focus on Jayne. River looked between the two men, wide-eyed, lips moving quickly though Eliot couldn’t hear what she was saying. 

“Jayne,” Zoe said from where she appeared on the stairs, “I’m only going to caution you once.”

“We’ve already been through this once,” Jayne said, throwing his towel to the bench. “People died!”

Zoe’s expression went cold and hard.

“Choose your words wisely, Jayne,” she cautioned.

“We should just drop them at the nearest Alliance cruiser and see if there’s profit to be had,” Jayne insisted. “Be safer for everyone.”

Eliot heard the clink of metal grating as Methos dropped from the level above to crouch on the cargo bay floor, intent on Jayne. Eliot knew Methos would vigorously defend his freedom, defend Eliot’s too, so Eliot moved quickly. He had Jayne on the ground in a handful of moves and kept him pinned there. There was something fey about Methos when Eliot glanced back at him. The look on his face and the light in his eyes was other than human. That, at least, was something familiar, something Eliot recognised from before. 

“Be glad I’m the one teaching you this lesson,” Eliot snarled at him. “He wouldn’t be so lenient.”

“That’s enough,” Zoe said firmly. Eliot released Jayne and stepped back, moving closer to Methos. He had to remain in good stead with these people and that meant sparing their crewmember, no matter how much he might wish otherwise. 

River sidled up to them, keeping her own eye on Jayne, so that the mercenary swallowed uneasily as he climbed carefully to his feet. He looked between the four of them before he snarled inarticulately and stormed out of the cargo bay. River leaned in close to Eliot. 

“Closer to the surface,” she said softly in his ear. “Like a shark.”

She wiggled her hands like a fish and smiled as she danced away back to Methos. Eliot turned to Methos who straightened slowly and stared intently back. There was a challenge in his clear hazel eyes, one Eliot hadn’t seen in centuries. Not since the last of the secrets between them had been exposed.

“I’m heading to lunch. You hungry?”

Methos cocked his head to one side, continuing his examination of Eliot, before something in him relaxed and he nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit more of this 'verse.  
> The research I did on swords was brief and superficial, so if anything is wrong with let me know.

Eliot watched the tea steep with as much of his concentration as he could focus because it meant he didn’t have to think about Methos and what he was doing or how he was doing. He didn’t have to think about where Methos was, if he was safe, because he was, he really was, even if Eliot couldn’t stop thinking about the Alliance and doctors and Methos being cut open.

“Hello,” a soft, practiced voice said. “You must be one of the new passengers.”

Eliot turned to see two women; both of his height, though one was wrapped in silks and immaculately coiffed and the other was dressed in dungarees with a smudge of grease on her cheek.

“River says they’re real shiny,” the second woman said. Eliot wondered if that was just slang. There was something uncanny about River, almost as though she could see beneath his skin, right into the heart of him. “I’m Kaylee and this is Inara.”

“Eliot,” he replied, folding his arms across his chest and staring at the women.

Methos wandered in a moment later and settled himself at the head of the table. He looked at Eliot expectantly, though there was a hint of amusement behind his eyes and Eliot shook his head, a little exasperated despite himself. 

“Just in time to be served without putting in any effort,” Eliot said, running a hand along Methos’ shoulder when he placed a cup in front of him, reassuring himself that the other Immortal was still there. Whatever else had changed, Eliot somehow doubted Methos’ ability to land on his feet ever would. 

“I’m in recovery,” Methos told him smartly and that was definitely humour underlying his tone. River bounced into the room and settled down next to Methos, giving Eliot the exact same look as Methos had. He sighed.

“I thought you stopped recruiting minions.”

“Right hand woman,” River said tartly, though she graciously accepted the cup Eliot placed in front of her. He followed through with the other two women as well.

“Are you two sly?” Kaylee asked, watching them curiously as Eliot settled in on the other side of Methos, their knees touching.

“Oh yes,” Methos said and hid his smirk as he ducked his head. Eliot knew Methos embodied every meaning of that word.

“Shiny,” Kaylee said. She looked at them like they were the most adorable thing in the world to which Eliot objected on principle. Methos endeared her by looking shyly up at Eliot.

“It’s quite admirable,” Inara added, looking at Eliot. “What you’ve done.”

Eliot knew that she knew nothing about what they’d been through, about what either of them had done. He doubted she’d be looking at them with quite so much respect if she did. 

“Secrets and lies,” River murmured before she sipped at her tea. Methos leaned in close and whispered something to her, making her giggle. 

Eliot knew better than to even guess at what Methos might have said, especially with the darkly delighted look in his eyes. For a moment he felt intensely jealous, because Methos seemed most himself when he was with her, and Eliot wanted that. He shifted his gaze to his own cup when River’s gaze rested on him and she looked entirely too speculative.

“Application of continuous force by one body on another,” she said to him, gaze intent upon him in that uncanny way she had.

Pressure. He knew he wanted Methos back, the Methos he knew, not this sometimes-stranger in his lover’s skin, and that wasn’t fair to Methos, to what he had gone through, to what he’d had to do to get through it. But then Methos had always been something more, something otherworldly, and he was barely one tenth of Methos’ age. There was still a lot he had to learn. River nodded and he got the idea that she knew exactly what he was thinking. He sighed.

“The Captain mentioned that we were making planet fall soon,” Eliot mentioned. 

“Should be there in a few hours,” Kaylee confirmed. “We need to pick up some replacement parts if we want to get to the Rim.” 

River grinned and he winked at her. She put a finger to her lips. Methos calmly sipped his tea, looking inscrutable and Eliot nudged Methos’ knee with his own. Methos raised an eyebrow but nudged back and Eliot knew they’d be alright.

Kaylee, Inara and River chatted amicably while they finished their tea. Methos looked at him with coyness the old Immortal no longer possessed and he smirked back. As soon as their tea was finished, Methos slid his hand in Eliot’s and dragged him away. Eliot went willingly.

“He seems almost normal,” Kaylee said as they left the room.

“Duct tape and glue,” River replied sadly. “Patch job.”

Eliot wondered if it would hold and, if so, for how long.

-

Eliot split from the Serenity crew as soon as they reached the market. It was a fairly prosperous planet, close enough to the Core to have decent enough supplies, but far enough out that he could afford to be only mildly paranoid about being spotted. It wasn’t him they were looking for, anyway, and Methos was back at the ship with River and Simon.

He slipped into the small, dingy shop, the third of its kind that he’d tried, and went immediately to the swords. Most were ceremonial or cheap knock offs that wouldn’t stand up to a single good blow, but there were one or two good ones in the back. They were marked with age and not taken care of as well as they should have been, but Eliot could do something about that. He couldn’t think of another, better way of showing Methos that he trusted him with everything.

The only swords worth anything were the Chinese ones and, while Methos didn’t usually prefer that style, Eliot figured he’d prefer a blade of some sort over nothing at all. They had several sabres, but those weren’t really Methos’ style either. He preferred the two-handed swords over one-handed. He preferred to mix his speed and agility with his deceptive strength and power. It usually kept his opponents off balance and that was something Eliot could respect, even if he preferred to channel his own strength into quick, decisive moves. It was why they worked so well together.

So, while the yanmaodao, though they’d labelled it a liuyedao – Eliot could tell the difference because it had a very distinctive curve, was perhaps the better blade, Eliot went with the nandao. It was a two-handed broadsword and, while it had was single-edged, the blade wasn’t curved. Methos would easily be able to adjust his style to match.

He was on his way back to the ship, sword secured in a tube slung over his shoulder, when he sensed something that froze him in his tracks as the presence of an Immortal buzzed in the back of his head. It was far, far too weak to Methos, especially now when he wasn’t reined in at all. The weight of his own sword – the katana Nate had gifted to him all those years ago – was a comfort as he scanned the crowd. A man dressed in the black and purple of the Alliance met his eyes. 

They met in the middle of the street and Eliot weighed up the odds of how likely it was this man was looking for Methos and if he might get out of this without a fight. The man bowed his head in greeting and Eliot returned the gesture.

“Peace,” the man intoned. “I seek another of our kind.”

“Can’t help you there,” Eliot said, tone neutral. Something in the other man’s expression clouded over and he brushed aside his coat to rest a hand on the sword strapped to his waist.

“Speak the oath or prepare to die,” the man demanded.

“Oath?” Eliot asked, shifting his stance, though he didn’t go for a weapon yet. Threatening an Alliance soldier on a pro-Alliance world with ties to the Core worlds would not end well for him and there were enough people looking at the curiously than he was entirely comfortable with.

“Traitor!” the man snarled, drawing his weapon and advancing on Eliot. Eliot drew his own weapon and prepared to attack when there was the crack of a gun being fired and the Immortal stopped short, blood blossoming on his shirtfront. He dropped to the ground, sword clattering away. It wouldn’t keep him down for long. 

“’Bout time to go, then,” Reynolds said, holstering his gun. Eliot nodded and sheathed his sword. They fled the scene.

-

Eliot could feel the vibration of the ship under his feet as he opened the door to his and Methos’ cabin. They’d fled quickly, before any sort of signal could be sent to keep them grounded, and were already leaving atmosphere. 

Methos was sprawled on the bed, still naked under the blanket, with one of Simon’s medical books open on his lap. Methos glanced up briefly when Eliot entered, then returned to his reading, thoroughly engrossed. Eliot couldn’t help the fond smile that tugged at his mouth. 

“I got something for you,” Eliot said and Methos looked up again, eyes shining with keen interest. 

“Bribery will get you everywhere,” Methos said, putting the book to one side and climbing gracefully, sensuously out of bed before he stalked toward Eliot. He moved like liquid, with all the smooth grace of a predator, and Eliot wanted him all over again, wanted to connect in a way that was basic and simple, where there was no confusion or misunderstandings. 

Methos crowded him against the wall and pulled him into a heated kiss as though Methos was trying to consume him, like he was oxygen stoking Methos’ fire. Eliot pulled Methos against him, relishing the feel of that hard body against his. 

“What did you get?” Methos murmured against his mouth. His hands had already slid across Eliot’s shoulder, sliding the strap down and pulling the case away. In a moment, he was sliding out the blade, giving it a few practice swings. He looked at home.


	4. Chapter 4

Eliot was roused from a light sleep by some inexplicable shift in atmosphere. He tightened his arm around Methos, who was tense but utterly still. It was so different from the sprawl that he’d had before, however affected that might have been. The only sign of his turmoil, of the nightmare he was suffering, was the sense of his Quickening, fluctuating in the back of Eliot’s head and the sheen of perspiration glistening in the dim light of the cabin.

“Methos,” Eliot murmured. He kept still, not crowding Methos any more than they already were on the narrow bunk. Methos’ heart beat wildly beneath the hand on his chest. It worried him that the only outward indication of the stress Methos was under was a slight frown that crossed Methos’ brow and Eliot resisted the urge to brush hair out of Methos’ face and smooth the creases in his forehead. 

“Methos,” he said again, a little louder, a little more sharply, and Methos’ eyes snapped open. It took a moment before they sought Eliot’s and another moment before he relaxed again. Eliot struggled for something to say, some comfort he could provide, before settling with curling up around Methos again. Methos let out a shaky sigh and leaned into him. 

Eliot could feel the slightest of tremors shiver through Methos’ too cool skin and he wished there was something more he could do, something he could fight to defeat this, but that was something he’d learned long ago. He pulled the thin blanket over them both and pressed his face into the crook of Methos’ neck. There were no more platitudes he could give and he knew better than to ask about the demons that plagued Methos.

“You came for me,” Methos said, resting his hand over Eliot’s and intertwining their fingers.

“That’s what we do,” Eliot told him.

“Don’t leave me behind,” Methos breathed out in a desperate confession made all the more painful by the way he held himself still, refusing to allow himself to be vulnerable. 

“Never,” Eliot said, realising that Methos was dealing with the same doubts he was and probably picking up Eliot’s own issues as well. Eliot had never seen anyone quite so good at reading people. “Methos...”

“I’m sorry,” Methos said when Eliot trailed off and Eliot held on tighter.

“We’ll work out where to go from here,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”

Methos finally relented, turning from staring at the ceiling to curl into Eliot. For the first time, Eliot thought maybe he could actually imagine a way forward.

-

River spent the morning getting Methos to show her how to use the sword, with Simon hovering in the background. Eliot tried to keep his distance, show Methos that he trusted him, but he didn’t like the way Jayne watched Methos when their paths crossed, which was fairly often since Jayne seemed to be keeping an eye on them.

“River seems to have taken to your friend,” Mal said from where leaned against the doorframe. 

“Adam tends to have that affect on people,” Eliot replied, turning to look at the captain.

“River’s generally a good judge of character.”

“So is Adam.”

“Isn’t that fortunate,” Mal drawled and Eliot got the distinct impression he felt the opposite. Eliot was sure he’d think the same if he was in Reynold’s position, but he couldn’t help but feel a little insulted on Methos’ behalf. Then again, Methos didn’t have nearly his usual control at the moment.

“He won’t harm her,” Eliot assured him, though he doubted River really needed protection from Methos. He’d seen the way she moved, had seen how quickly she picked up sword fighting. 

“You don’t have to intend harm to bring it to our doorsteps,” Mal said, voice and stance deceptively casual. Eliot conceded that with a nod.

“We will depart next landfall,” he agreed. As good as River and some of the crew had been for Methos, Eliot had known it couldn’t last, not with the risk they posed. Besides, Eliot thought, the stability of living planetside might do Methos some good. It rang hollow even in his own mind. Methos had always been better, more engaged, surrounded by people.

“Should be a couple more days,” Mal told him, straightening up. 

Eliot nodded, briefly envious of the close-knit crew. He missed that feeling of being able to depend on other people to support you when you stumbled, because it had been just him and Methos for centuries now, and he wasn’t sure who was going to catch them when Eliot fell. He wasn’t sure how either of them would deal if Methos ended up in Alliance hands again.

“I’ll make sure we’re ready,” Eliot said. Mal nodded in reply. 

Eliot found his gaze drawn once again to Methos, who was flagging a little as he sparred with River. He definitely wasn’t up to his usual standard where he’d be able to dance circles around River, no matter how graceful she was. Methos stumbled, lowering his guard and River got in a lucky slice to his shoulder before she was able to pull her swing. 

Simon was at his side immediately and Eliot watched with a sense of dread as Simon rested a hand on Methos’ clavicle to get a better look at the wound. Methos jerked violently away with a guttural snarl. River stepped between them quickly, before Methos could retaliate. For a moment, it looked like even that wouldn’t make a difference, but Methos backed up a step, still tense and on edge.

Eliot raced down the stairs, kicking himself for not thinking to warn at least Simon about Methos’ triggers, made all the worse by what he’d been through. The thought of faint, pale scars that crisscrossed Methos’ neck still made his blood run cold at how close he’d come to losing Methos.

“No touching,” River admonished Simon.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Simon murmured, stepping further back, though still watchful. Eliot reached the bottom of the stairs and approached Methos, not too cautiously but letting Methos keep him easily in sight. 

It was only when Eliot was at his side that Methos began to relax. River grinned and stepped away from Simon, so Eliot figured the threat was over. 

“Try not to damage him too much,” Eliot told her. She ducked her head.

“Proportion,” she said, “1.6180339887498...”

Eliot figured that meant she was planning to be more careful in future. He appreciated the sentiment; though he wasn’t sure how long River was going to continue for when Methos interrupted her. 

“Thank you,” he said, the last of the tension easing from his frame. 

“Except the nose.”

He smiled, small and crooked.

“Always the nose.”

She grinned back.

“Maybe I can check the cut now?” Simon asked. River rolled her eyes and Eliot couldn’t help but smile, though it dropped quickly when he felt Methos tense up again behind him.

“It doesn’t look too serious,” Eliot said, glancing back at Methos. “The bleeding’s stopped already. I can take it from here.”

Eliot took an unresisting Methos by the arm and began to lead him back to the cabin. Methos would probably have to wear a bandage for a few days to hide the fact that it had already healed, but they’d be gone by then anyway.

“I’m alright,” Methos said, subdued.

“I know,” Eliot said and they both ignored the lie.


	5. Chapter 5

Most of the crew said their goodbyes in their own way. Inara said quiet goodbyes the night before, Kaylee gave them a cheerful send-off at breakfast, Mal grunted and Jayne and Zoe ignored them for the most part. It was only River and Simon who actually came to see them off in person, though Simon hung back to let River say goodbye.

Eliot hefted his pack onto his shoulder and glanced at Methos who looked strong and resolute. They’d be okay, Eliot knew that, but he couldn’t help but think they might be more okay if they could take River with them. River giggled, as if in response to his thought, and sidled up to Methos who smiled at her indulgently.

“Mind the blades,” River said, patting Methos’ cheek. “They rend and reave.”

Methos frowned, body suddenly thrumming with tension, and Eliot wondered what the exchange meant to them. Despite his practice, there were still moments when he couldn’t understand either of them. 

“What about the others?” Methos asked.

“Family never strays far from home. That way Daddy can look after them.”

Methos nodded firmly and she stood on her tip-toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Take care of him,” she told her, jerking her head in Eliot’s direction and Methos smiled wryly. 

“Always do.”

River turned to Eliot and stuck out her hand, looking oddly serious despite her yellow sundress and bare feet. He shook her hand with equal solemnity.

“It won’t be long,” she assured him.

“Until what?” 

“You find a home.”

Despite the fact that he had no real indication that she was anything more than just a little crazy, he believed her and it let him breathe a little easier. 

“You’ve got our details?” Simon asked, stepping forward. Eliot nodded. “Don’t be afraid to wave us if you need advice,” he told Eliot, “or help of any kind,” he added, looking at Methos. “We’ll do whatever we can.”

“Thanks,” Eliot told him, shaking his hand as well.

“Take care,” Simon said and Eliot nodded. Simon then shook Methos’ hand. “It was very good to meet you both.”

“Come on,” Eliot said to Methos. “Let’s see if there’s anywhere on this rock worth staying.”

Neither of them looked back, and Methos’ expression was inscrutable, but it was clear to Eliot that he wasn’t entirely happy about leaving, but he didn’t have any words of comfort to offer. They were both too old to believe in happy endings.

-

Eliot joined Methos who was leaning against the railing outside the inn. The insularity and isolationism of border worlds, the very reason Eliot knew they’d be the best place to hide, was also the reason he was finding it so difficult to find somewhere to stay.

“We could always try camping,” Methos suggested without turning.

“Now I know we’re desperate,” Eliot teased with a faint smile. Methos shrugged, the barest hint of a smirk curling his lip. 

“Don’t really see how it would be all that different from staying at the inn,” Methos said, looking past Eliot to the outhouse.

“You think living in a crapped cabin with a communal bathroom in a heap that was barely held together spoiled us?” Eliot asked.

A shadow crossed Methos’ face before he tamped down on it and Eliot withheld a wince. Compared to where Methos had been, even camping without any running water or plumbing was probably luxury.

“I don’t know,” Methos said, smoothing his features into neutrality. “It had its benefits.”

“Yeah.”

A man ran down the dirt road, immediately drawing their attention, especially when he was followed by several others. Eliot and Methos briefly glanced at each other, wondering what was going on.

“Reavers!” one of the crowd yelled. “Reavers are coming!”

Eliot spared a thought for River and the rest of Serenity’s crew, many of whom were wandering around town, getting supplies, but he steered his thoughts away from them. They weren’t his concern anymore.

“We have to go,” Eliot said, but Methos nodded, following close on his heels as they went in the same direction as the other fleeing people. Their escape was cut off by Reavers flooding into the street in front of them, corralling them, and then diving into the crowd of townspeople.

“They rend and reave,” Methos said, drawing his sword.

“Not if we do first,” Eliot countered, drawing his own sword.

They fought side-by-side, as though they’d never been apart. Despite the Reavers, Eliot was pleased because this new Methos was still his Methos. Or perhaps, this new Methos was just the old Methos stripped down to his core and laid bare.

“River!” Eliot heard Reynolds yell and looked briefly in her direction as she slipped between them, axe in hand, to cut down a Reaver running for them.

“Was missing all the fun,” she said with a grin. Methos’ smile was feral in response.

Before he could stop himself, Eliot found himself muttering about 20 pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. River practically danced passed him, giggling as she swung her axe. Still the Reavers came in overwhelming numbers and they had no tactical advantage, not out in the open as they were. Not when Methos was already flagging. Not noticeably, and he was still better than almost any other fighter Eliot had seen, but it was not his usual standard.

Several Reavers swamped Methos and Eliot knew with sickening certainty that he wasn’t going to get there in time. He never seemed to get there in time. One of the Reavers, whose arm terminated in a rusty blade, stabbed Methos through the stomach, going up through his diaphragm. Methos coughed, blood darkening his lips, before he dropped to the ground.

Eliot leapt at the Reavers, determined not to let them do anymore harm to Methos’s body. He was already going to revive in a warzone, he didn’t need indications of mutilation as well. River stood at his side, protecting Methos from further harm as the swarm of Reavers slowed to a trickle.

-

“He’s dead,” Simon said later when the dust had settled, the Reavers taken care of, and the crew gathered around. His hands were steady at Methos’ throat though his voice shook. 

“For what it’s worth,” Reynolds said, looking solemn and sincere. “I’m sorry.”

Eliot ignored him. It was taking longer than normal for Methos to heal. He knew he should have expected as much, but there was still some part of him that thought each time might be the last. Especially now. 

River crouched next to Methos’ body, head cocked curiously. Eliot could easily believe that she knew what was going to happen. Abruptly she stood and pulled Simon back a distance with her. A second later Methos’ presence flared to life and he revived with a pained gasp. His reaction was swift and efficient as he grabbed Eliot by the throat and threw him to the ground, straddling him. 

Eliot ignored the commotion going on as a response to both Methos’ revival and reaction and focused on Methos himself. How many times, Eliot wondered. How many times had they tortured him to death only for him to revive to more pain for this to become his instinctual reaction.

Keeping as calm as possible, even as his vision greyed out, Eliot raised his hands to gently cup Methos’ cheek and brush a thumb over the lip curled into a snarl. Methos flinched back, unsure what to do with the unexpected reaction and blinked. Slowly, so very slowly, his expression cleared and he quickly released his grip. Eliot drew in ragged breaths and allowed his Quickening to do the rest.

“Please tell me he’s got a safe word,” Reynolds said finally.

“Death doesn’t have switches. Death just is. Like the black,” River said. “It lies in wait and rushes in at the slightest weakness.”

Eliot shivered, wondering if she meant weakness in others or weakness in Methos himself. He wondered just how close to the surface Death was. 

“You’d better come with us,” Reynolds said with a sigh.

“Now wait just a minute,” Jayne said slowly. “Did everyone else see what I just saw?”

-

On a distant world, a man surveyed the ships in dock with the faint hope of finding a familiar silhouette and, despite the improbability of doing so, couldn’t help the despondency that filled him when it wasn’t there. He squared his shoulders and approached the first decent looking ship he saw.

“I need passage to Persephone,” he said. The woman standing on the ramp looked him up and down, critically. The man knew he wasn’t much to look at. His clothes were worn and everything he owned was either borrowed or stolen. He’d had almost nothing when he’d woken up in a shallow grave. “I’ve got a few credits, but I’m a skilled pilot and I know some mechanics. I can earn my passage.”

She frowned for a moment before nodding and gesturing him in.

“If you don’t, I’ll space you.”

Hoban Washburne steeled himself, hoping that the next destination would have what he was looking for.


	6. Chapter 6

Eliot settled in the mess area knowing what was coming as soon as they broke atmo and left the Reavers far behind. Methos sat next to him, paging through one of Simon’s medical books, and Eliot was glad to see it. 

Slowly, the crew trickled in, settled themselves around the room. Kaylee and River sat across from them and talked together quietly, laughing together. Inara perched elegantly in a corner, Simon standing next to her, and Jayne stood in the opposite corner, arms folded as he glared at everyone. Finally, Reynolds and Zoe joined them.

“What the gorram hell happened down there?” Reynolds demanded, rounding on Eliot and Methos. Methos continued reading his book, apparently oblivious, and River rolled her eyes.

“Lightning in a jar,” she said, her expression radiating exasperation that Reynolds hadn’t understood her. 

“Adam can heal,” Eliot told them. He looked at Methos who nodded his head minutely but otherwise said nothing. “He can heal from just about anything. It’s why the Alliance was interested in him. They wanted to copy the ability, give it to soldiers of their choosing.”

“So anything they did...” Inara began, then trailed off, unable to complete the thought, to make it real.

“Whatever they did he would heal from and then they’d start all over again,” Eliot said without emotion. Methos remained still and disregarded at his side and Eliot wished the interrogation was over more quickly. Methos didn’t need this, not after just reviving.

Kaylee gasped softly and covered her mouth, blinking liquid eyes. Methos ignored her entirely.

“The pieces don’t fit quite right anymore,” River murmured, ducking her head low to the table so she could look up at Methos’ bowed face. He smiled a little wanly for her.

“They never did,” Methos said softly.

“Was quicksilver, shifting and reforming, infinitely reflecting. Now it’s all shards of glass, grating and jagged.”

Methos’ smile shifted into a sharp, hard thing.

“Has its advantages.”

River smiled back.

“It’s fascinating, the idea that a human is able to heal himself from death. I wonder where the source of the ability is located. Was he born with it?” Simon mused.

At Eliot’s side, Methos grew more and more tense as Simon went on and Eliot curled his hands into fists to prevent himself from pounding the doctor into a smear on the floor.

“No,” he said sharply.

“Of course,” Simon said, backtracking quickly. “I’d never...”

“Boob,” River told him before turning back to Methos. “Never thinks before he speaks.”

Methos shrugged a little, still not looking up, still making himself as small and inconsequential as possible, but that didn’t seem to bother River. She just smiled at him and turned to look at Reynolds.

“ _Qing wa cao de liu mang_ ,” Mal swore violently. “Fine, but you earn your keep.”

River went to hug Mal tight and he settled an arm around her shoulders even as he continued to glare at the room.

“I can handle myself in a fight,” Eliot told him and Reynolds nodded, shifting his gaze to Methos. Eliot instinctively laid a hand on Methos’ arm. “Adam... Before all this, he was a doctor.”

It was a profession Methos had returned to again and again over the centuries in the same way that Eliot returned to being a chef. They might be warriors and killers by necessity, but that wasn’t enough, not in the long run. Still, Eliot was cautious of letting him near anything medical.

“I could use some help in the infirmary,” Simon offered automatically. He shrugged, smiling a little. “It might be nice to have someone else who knows what they’re doing.”

Methos looked up then, expression hard and determined, and nodded in acknowledgement. Eliot gave his arm a light squeeze, appreciating the strength of his decision. It might even go a long way in helping Methos recover. Reynolds stalked out the room muttering about ‘top 5%’.

-

“You alright?” Simon asked later, hovering in the door of Eliot and Methos’ cabin, book clasped in his hands. Methos looked at him sharply, eyes scanning Simon’s features for any sign of deception or undue interest. He found nothing but friendly concern. The tension in his shoulders eased and he nodded. Simon smiled at that.

“I didn’t mean to worry you earlier,” Simon apologised and offered the book to Methos. “I thought you might like to catch up on neurosurgical techniques.”

Methos rested his current book, almost finished, on the blanket next to him, and slid off the bed to take the book from Simon. Simon smoothed his hands down the thighs of his pants and Methos smirked at the unconscious gesture. Realising what he was doing, Simon smiled up at him a little self-consciously and shrugged.

“I didn’t just come to give you the book. I was thinking about checking the infirmary stocks tomorrow and taking inventory. I could really use some help,” Simon offered. Methos nodded.

“I will be there,” he told the doctor, grateful for the chance to do something, anything really, that wasn't sitting around like an invalid. 

“I’ll see you then,” Simon said, grinning, turning to go before he hesitated, smile slipping away. “Are there any side-effects that we should be worried about? Any health risks? From what you can do?”

Methos shook his head, focusing on the open concern in the doctor’s face. If he could let go and move on then maybe Eliot could, too, because Methos couldn’t be an anchor weighing him down, holding him back. He couldn’t be afraid and violent and angry and all the thoughts and feelings mixed up in his head. That wasn’t who they were together. He didn’t know how to be different and he couldn’t lose Eliot. Not now.

“Good, that’s good,” Simon said, nodding, before he turned and walked away. Methos shut the door behind him and turned the lock.

-

Wash looked around the Eavesdown Docks, feeling at last like something was familiar and right. His job was absolute _go shi_ , basically manual labour, but is paid enough to cover the small room and enough food so that he wasn’t starving.

It wasn’t exactly the life he’d planned and he missed Zoe like she was air and he was adrift in the black, but he was alive. That was something he felt he should probably be grateful for, considering his last memories involved Reavers and metal poles. He was alive and Zoe was out there somewhere, he knew at least that much from reports on Serenity. He just had to find her.

No matter what, Serenity always returned to the Docks. All Wash had to do was wait.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for those who’d like to know, I’ve re-planned the next four chapters and have a good idea of where to go after that. Also, Wash’s part of the story is going to increase until he joins up with the others. 
> 
> Information on ships taken from the Firefly wiki.

Simon watched Adam as they went through a list of supplies for the infirmary. They were still on the basic supplies – gauze, scalpels, surgical thread, staples – when Simon noticed something wasn’t quite right. 

Adam’s hands were still and steady, and his breathing was even, but Simon still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off. Maybe it was that Adam was still where Simon was used to him being fidgety and restless. Maybe it was that the only times Simon had seen Adam steady and calm was when Adam was at his most volatile.

He hesitated, wondering how to bring it up. With River, if he said something the wrong way, she’d just call him a boob and they’d move on. With Adam, he might end up with a scalpel at his throat. The doctor in him felt pity. The brother in him who knew exactly what they’d done to River and could only imagine what they’d done to Adam, couldn’t really blame him.

“River still can’t be around needles,” Simon said finally. “She’s doing a lot better these days, she’s more stable than she has been in a long time, but she still can’t stand needles.”

“I have to be better,” Adam murmured, almost too softly for Simon to hear. Simon grimaced, sure that Adam was pushing himself before he was really ready. He stood and put down the pad listing their supplies.

“Why don’t we take a break?” he suggested. They had been working for barely more than an hour, but they’d covered a lot of ground because, even as uncomfortable as Adam seemed to be, there was no denying that he knew what he was doing. Simon could only imagine how good he must have been as a doctor and it seemed a tragedy that he was prevented from practicing medicine.

“We should finish,” Adam insisted, not turning to look at Simon as he opened another drawer.

“Adam,” Simon said and he reached out but hesitated to touch Adam after the last time. Adam stopped going through the drawer and braced his arms against the counter, head hanging. It was only then that Simon noticed the fine tremors coursing through Adam. “Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested this.”

“I need to do this,” Adam said, but Simon could tell he was trying to convince himself more than he was Simon.

“I can understand that.”

Simon rested a hand on Adam’s shoulder, unable to entirely curb his impulse to help people. Adam flinched violently and jerked away from him, hands raised to ward against Simon. They stared at each other for a moment, both breathing hard, before Adam dropped his hands and left.

...

When Eliot opened the door to their room, he found Methos pacing, restless and desperate. He wasn’t sure if this was an improvement to Methos curled up in bed or not. 

“Methos,” Eliot said, watching Methos carefully. It didn’t look like much of an improvement when Methos turned and snarled at him, hands twitching at his sides and Eliot realised it was to hide them shaking.

“Methos,” Eliot repeated, voice soft but firm. 

“Don’t.”

Methos stopped pacing, though he continued to shift on the balls of his feet, and glared at Eliot. Eliot raised an eyebrow and they remained that way, staring at each other, for a long moment. Finally, Methos looked away.

“It’s not alright,” Methos said and finally he sank to bunk and pulled his knees to his chest. “I’m not alright.”

Eliot sat next to him, just barely making contact along his side. 

“You don’t have to be.”

Methos snorted and Eliot couldn’t help but wince, knowing that he'd wanted things to be different. But one of the first things he’d learned was when to stop fighting, when surrendering might lose the battle but win the war.

“Methos,” Eliot said and he turned to look at Methos. “None of us is alright.”

Finally, Methos smiled a little and knocked his shoulder against Eliot’s. Eliot smiled faintly back, leaning against Methos so that they were more closely pressed together. He’d missed this side of them.

“It’s not the first time either of us has broken,” Eliot added and Methos’ smile fell. Eliot regretted it’s loss. “Or any of them either, I bet.”

“No,” Methos agreed. 

Eliot had been broken when he met Methos, maybe not as badly, or maybe just differently, but he’d been broken all the same. It had been Methos, and later the Leverage crew, that had put his pieces back together. Not the way he’d been before, but that had never been an option. Maybe he and this new crew would be enough to help Methos find a new equilibrium. Methos leaned into him. 

"Don't have to stay that way," Methos said softly and this time it was Eliot who nudged his shoulder and smiled faintly at him.

Eliot became aware of Simon standing in the doorway a moment before the doctor knocked on the metal announcing his arrival and request for entrance. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Simon said, hands twisting together nervously. The look he shot Methos was half sympathy, half caution and, while Eliot couldn’t entirely blame him, he knew Methos didn’t need this right now. “I just... That is...”

The only indication of Methos’ discomfit was his lip curling in disdain. Eliot rested a hand on his knee. 

“How about we try again tomorrow?” Simon finally suggested, having steeled himself. Methos gave him a brief nod. “Good.”

Eliot wasn’t sure what had passed between Methos and Simon or if this development was a good idea, but Methos seemed more certain of himself than he had in a while.

...

Wash was loading crates onto a Sandfly that was almost derelict, despite being a newer model than Serenity’s older model Firefly, when pressure began to build in the back of his head. He set the crate down, just barely avoiding dropping it, before clutching at his head, fingers digging into his scalp.

“Speak the oath,” he heard a man demand and he looked up through squinted eyes before the headache disappeared entirely.

“What oath?” Wash asked, slowly straightening but wary of the pain returning. “What the gorram hell was that?”

“You have never experienced the sensation before?”

Wash rubbed the back of his head, unable to shake the feeling of pressure that had long since faded.

“Then you are fortunate,” the man told him, removing his hand from a sword Wash only now noticed. “The Alliance has chosen to bestow its most precious blessing upon you.”

“What?” Wash asked again, completely lost, but willing to try to wade through the morass of his confusion if it meant answers to questions he’d been asking since waking up in the ground.

“We will teach you everything you need to know,” the man told him as he gestured for two Alliance soldiers to take Wash into custody. Wash struggled, but their grip on his arms was unrelenting.

“I haven’t done anything,” Wash said, feeling like he was only accumulating more questions and a fair amount of self-righteous indignation besides.

“You are to be rewarded,” the man told him with a small, self-satisfied smile.


	8. Chapter 8

Zoe had become accustomed to wandering the corridors late at night, when the ship was too quiet and her bed too empty. Sometimes she heard River humming or talking softly to herself in the cockpit, sometimes it was Simon in the infirmary or Jayne in the cargo bay, rarely it was Kaylee in the engine room, tinkering with something or other.

So she wasn't too surprised to see the light on in the infirmary. She breifly glanced in as she walked past, expecting to see Simon, so she was surprised to see Adam sitting on the bed in the middle of room with his eyes closed. Especially since she’d heard about what happened earlier.

She hesitated; uncharacteristic of her, but things hadn’t been characteristic in a while. Adam opened his eyes and stared at her.

He looked expectant, like he expected her to ask what he was doing, but she didn’t need to. Some nightmares couldn’t be confronted or overcome, they simply had to be endured. Especially those that were real.

They looked at each other for a long moment, neither breaking the silence, before Zoe finally gestured vaguely in the direction of the cupboards.

“Need some help?” she offered. Adam cocked his head to one side before he nodded slowly, looking at that side of the infirmary distrustfully. She leaned in the doorway and let him move at his own pace. “I have a little bit of training, battlefield mostly.”

“Browncoats?” he asked. She nodded, though she was sure he knew the answer and was just talking as a distraction. He picked up the pad with the inventory Simon hadn’t finished yet. “We were, too. Eliot picked up a bad habit of fighting for the underdog.”

He smiled a little wryly, but it was still affectionate, and she felt a pang of loss that sharpened the pain that never quite left her chest. She settled in next to him, though still a good foot away, and began to sort through one of the drawers. It was clinically, almost pathologically neat, and she was sure Simon had already been through it, but that wasn’t really the point.

“And where he went, so did you?”

Adam nodded. She wondered if he resented that, if Wash might have, but Adam didn’t look bitter or regretful, and Wash had only ever had issues with Mal and those were put aside long ago.

“We’re better together.”

She nodded. Even with their cracks, they fitted together well.

“Wash and I were like that,” she said and it was the first time she’d said his name since the funeral. Maybe even since Miranda. There was lot there she’d just drifted through. Adam just grunted, sympathy or agreement, she didn’t know, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

...

Eliot woke suddenly, heart hammering in his chest as he tried to forget those days after Methos had been taken and he had no idea what had happened. Methos wasn’t in bed with him – the bunk was so narrow that it wasn’t in doubt, but he still sighed. If Methos wasn’t such a sneaky SOB, Eliot could actually help him with his nightmares.

He dropped his feet to the ground, barely noticing the cold of the metal against the soles of his feet, and sat there. He knew where Methos was, at least in a general sense because he couldn’t leave the ship, and he could guess at more specifically. But Methos didn’t need him to be chasing after him like a nanny.

Centuries ago he’d told Parker he and Methos were partners. Before Eliot had known he was Methos, before he’d even known about Immortals. It was still true. Eliot knew his issues were less about the idea Methos couldn’t look after himself and more that Eliot felt like he’d failed.

With another sigh, Eliot rose to his feet and left their cabin. He swore to himself he wasn’t going to look for Methos, he just needed to walk off the tension from his dream. If his route happened to take him past the infirmary and he happened to glance in, then that was purely accidental.

Still, he was relieved to see Zoe in there with him, both of them working diligently at cataloguing and inventorying the infirmary. They didn’t speak, but Methos looked less tense and Eliot appreciated Zoe’s solid, silent presence.

Eliot passed quickly and made his way into the kitchen to brew some coffee. He wasn’t going to sleep any more that night. Maybe he’d try out some of the exercise gear in the cargo bay after that. Methos would catch up to him when he felt like it.

...

After one of the Alliance soldiers twisted his arm, almost dislocating his shoulder, Wash stopped his struggles. He needed to be physically capable of taking any chance at getting away, because he wasn't sure Zoe and Serenity were coming for him this time. He didn't know what happened, but he knew they wouldn't have left him if they weren't sure he wasn’t coming back.

So, Wash didn't struggle when he was told to strip and showered with a hose. He didn't struggle when he was given a uniform of a purple T-shirt and grey trousers and told to dress. He didn't struggle when they pushed him into a seat and shaved his head.

He did struggle when they lined up the recruits - _prisoners_ \- and shot them all one by one. It didn't make a difference.

He woke, gasping and choking, to a purple-belly pushing him back down into the dirt with a boot on his chest and that awful feeling of pain and pressure pounding in his head.

“You live because the Alliance wishes it,” the soldier told him and Wash squinted up at him, trying to focus on his face. “And if the Alliance wished it, you could just as easily die.”

The soldier stepped back and Wash hesitated a moment before climbing to his feet. He gingerly rubbed at his chest which was still wet with his blood, but the skin underneath hid fingertips was smooth and unblemished.

“There is only one rule you need to follow,” another soldier said, a patch on his shoulder indicating he was a commander. “Obey.”

The commander paused, looking over the group, his expression giving away nothing of what he thought of them. The other soldiers under his command made their opinions clear enough as they sneered at Wash and the other recruits.

“The Alliance has given you all a gift,” the commander continued.“It is your duty to use this gift in service of the Alliance.”

Wash glanced along the line of other recruits – _prisoners_ – and saw that at least half of them seemed to be in awe. There were others who seemed afraid or defiant. Wash struggled to keep his expression as blank as possible. Like Zoe when faced with an enemy; calm and focused and in control.

“I am a leaf on the wind,” Wash said to himself very quietly. He'd survived worse with Niska, had come out of that stronger, with a better idea of who he was and what he could endure. _I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar._


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning Eliot sat down to breakfast, a little tired from a long workout on top of having his sleep cut short, but feeling better than he had in a long time. Methos smiled faintly at him as he sat down next to him, knee bumping his. It felt like maybe, for the first time in a long time, that they might get a chance to get their feet under them again.

"Up the downslide," River said with a wide smile as she sat down opposite them. Eliot nodded to her in greeting, guessing she meant Methos or him and Methos. Eliot would quite happily take either. Methos bumped his knee again and smirked as though knowing what he was thinking.

"One reader is more than enough," Eliot told him quietly. Methos snorted.

"Never had to be one to know what you're thinking."

Eliot conceded that with a nod. Methos had an uncanny ability to know people better than they probably knew themselves. Undoubtedly a result of his long experience.

“You do like to think you’re omniscient,” Eliot said, bumping their knees together. 

“Only when it’s true,” Methos said with a smile. Eliot smiled back. River leaned forward.

“Too much knowing for one ship,” she said.

“I completely agree,” Eliot told her. She grinned.

They were joined by Kaylee and Inara a moment later, who greeted them all with smiles. Jayne followed not too much later and went straight for the coffee without even glancing at any of them. Mal and Zoe were almost the last to arrive. 

Eliot caught Zoe's eye and nodded to her in thanks for her assistance the night before. She met his gaze with a neutral expression and shrugged, keeping Methos' confidence. Even that, he decided, was a good sign. Methos was earning the loyalty of these people without any interference from him.

Simon sat down next to River and began dishing up for both himself and her. She looked at Methos and rolled her eyes at being treated like a child. He snickered.

"Thanks for finishing up in the infirmary," Simon told him. Methos shrugged, glancing at Zoe, who didn't respond, but then everyone was used to her not participating much these days.

"Wasn't a big deal," Methos said finally. River caught Zoe's eye and rolled hers, like she couldn't believe he was really trying to get that past them. Zoe's smile started as a small, faint thing, but it was obviously there, for the first time in months. Conversation lulled a little as everyone seemed to take notice.

"You want to try that again without hesitating?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. Eliot thought of Methos’ nightmares and his struggle in the infirmary and thought maybe the best for Methos had never been him, or at least not just him, but people. Methos always thrived with people.

"Thought browncoats were supposed to stick together," Methos said with some of his old humour sparkling in his eyes. Zoe laughed, soft and brief, but unmistakable.

“Thought the war was over,” she shot back.

“Only by the official reckoning of these things.”

River snickered and Eliot shook his head, smiling. He saw Mal watching Methos and Zoe with a thoughtful frown.

...

Wash winced when the sword sliced into the flesh of his arm. He'd wanted to be able to talk to Zoe and Mal on a level, but this wasn't how he'd wanted to do it. He shifted to grip his own sword with two hands, trying to compensate for the pain and loss of feeling. 

He'd never felt so tired in his life, not even after everything with Niska. The training they’d been put through was brutal and intense, but he persevered. He couldn't afford not to.

The kid he was fighting against really is just that, a kid, and he looked Core-born too. He was soft and pretty, but without any of the core of strength and determination Simon seemed to come by somehow. But then, this kid looked barely out of school and had likely never seen a hard day's work in his life. 

The kid seemed surprised to have even scored a hit, he faltered when he should have pushed, and Wash used that to his benefit. He pressed the advantage, striking with more flailing than skill, but doing relatively well none-the-less. The kid stepped steadily back until he was at the edge of their marked space.

Wash hesitated. The wound in his arm had healed already and the kid was panting and scared, his previous triumph forgotten. Wash knew that following through wouldn't cause irreparable damage, he'd seen it happen from than once already, had it happen to him, but somehow that never changed how he felt. Acting with the intent to kill someone, even if it was temporary, felt like it altered him in some real but intangible way.

Wash thought of Zoe, of seeing her again if only he could survive this, and struck again, knocking the sword from the kid's hands. He moved before he could rethink his decision and stabbed the kid through the gut. He'd tried to go for his heart, make it quick, but the kid had tried to dodge and Wash knew it would be a lingering death. He winced in sympathy as the match was called to a halt and a point was added to his score.

He didn’t look away until the kid gave a short gasp and sat up with a wheeze.


End file.
